佚名
Anonymous
TheyweregoingtoFlorida——threeboysandthreegirls——andwhentheyboardedthebus,theywerecarryingsandwichesandwineinaerbags,dreamingofgoldenbeachesandseatidesasthegraycoldofNewYorkvanishedbehindthem。
AsthebusassedthroughNewJersey,theybegantonoticeVingo。Hesatinfrontofthem,dressedinalain,ill-fittingsuit,nevermoving,hisdustyfacemaskinghisage。Hechewedtheinsideofhislialot,frozenintosomeersonalcocoonofsilence。
Deeintothenight,outsideWashington,thebusulledintoaHowardJohnsons,andeverybodygotoffexcetVingo。Hesatrootedinhisseat,andtheyoungeolebegantowonderabouthim,tryingtoimaginehislife:erhashewasaseacatain,arunawayformhiswife,anoldsoldiergoinghome。Whentheywentbacktothebus,oneofthegirlssatbesidehimandintroducedherself。
“WeregoingtoFlorida,”shesaidbrightly,“Ihearitsbeautiful。”
“Itis。”hesaidquietly,asifrememberingsomethinghehadtriedtoforget。
“Wantsomewine?”shesaid。Hesmiledandtookaswig。Hethankedherandretreatedagainintohissilence。Afterawhile,shewentbacktotheothers,andVingonoddedinslee。
Inthemorning,theyawokeoutsideanotherHowardJohnsons,andthistimeVingowentin。Thegirlinsistedthathejointhem。Heseemedveryshy,andorderedblackcoffeeandsmokednervouslyastheyoungeolechatteredaboutsleeingonbeaches。Whentheyreturnedtothebus,thegirlsatwithVingoagain,andafterawhile,slowlyandainfully,hetoldhisstory。HehadbeeninjailinNewYorkfortheastfouryears,andnowhewasgoinghome。
“Areyoumarried?”
“Idontknow。”
“Youdontknow?”shesaid。
“Well,whenIwasinthecanIwrotetomywife,”hesaid,“ItoldherthatIwasgoingtobeawayalongtime,andthatifshecouldn’tstandit,ifthekidsketaskingquestions,ifithurttoomuch,well,shecouldjustforgetme。I’dunderstand。Getanewguy,Isaid-she’sawonderfulwoman,reallysomething-andforgetaboutme。Itoldhershedidn’thavetowritemeornothing。Andshedidnt。Notforthreeandahalfyears。”
“Andyouregoinghomenow,notknowing?”
“Yeah,”hesaidshyly,“Well,lastweek,whenIwassurethearolewascomingthrough,Iwroteheragain。WeusedtoliveinBrunswick,justbeforeJacksonville,andThere’sabigoaktreejustasyoucomeintotown。Itoldherthatifshe’dtakemeback,sheshouldutayellowhandkerchiefonthetree,andI’dgetoffandcomehome。Ifshedidn’twantme,forgetit-nohandkerchiefandIdgoonthrough。”
“Wow,”thegirlsaid,“Wow。”
Shetoldtheothers,andsoonallofthemwereinit,caughtuinthearoachofBrunswick,lookingattheictureVingoshowedthemofhiswifeandthreechildren-thewomanhandsomeinalainway,thechildrenstillunformedinthecracked,much-handledsnashots。
Nowtheywere20milesfromBrunswick,andtheyoungeoletookoverwindowseatsontherightside,waitingforthearoachofthegreatoaktree。Thebusacquiredadark,hushedmood,fullofthesilenceofabsenceandlostyears。Vingostoedlooking,tighteninghisfaceintotheex-consmask,asiffortifyinghimselfagainststillanotherdisaointment。
ThenBrunswickwastenmiles,andthenfive。Then,suddenly,alloftheyoungeolewereuoutoftheirseats,screamingandshoutingandcrying,doingsmalldancesofexultation。AllexcetVingo。
Vingosattherestunned,lookingattheoaktree。Itwascoveredwithyellowhandkerchiefs-20ofthem,30ofthem,maybehundreds,atreethatstoodlikeabannerofwelcomebillowinginthewind。Astheyoungeoleshouted,theoldconrosefromhisseatandmadehiswaytothefrontofthebustogohome。
三个男孩和三个女孩打算乘长途汽车去佛罗里达游玩,他们用纸袋带了三明治和葡萄酒,眼前浮现出梦想中的金色沙滩和海浪,昏暗寒冷的纽约城渐渐在他们身后销声匿迹。
当汽车经过新泽西时,他们注意到了温哥。他一动不动地坐在他们前排,身穿简朴而不合时宜的衣服,蓬头垢面,让人简直难以判断出他的真实年龄。他不时地咬着嘴唇,默不做声,似封冻于蚕茧中。
夜幕降临,长途汽车驶至华盛顿郊外,在郝华德·约翰森饭馆的门口停下了,所有人都起身下车,只有温哥仍坐在那里一动不动,像是扎根在了座位上一样。年轻人都好奇地猜想着他的身世:他或许是名船长,一个抛家弃妻的外乡人,或是一个归家的老兵。当他们回到车上时,其中一个女孩坐到了他身旁,主动搭讪,作了自我介绍。
“我们要去佛罗里达,”她爽朗地说道,“听说那儿是个景色宜人的好地方。”
“没错。”他面无表情地答道,好像这个话题勾起了他想忘却的某些往事。
“来点儿葡萄酒吗?”她说。温哥微笑着接过酒,畅饮起来,谢过女孩,又不做声了。过了一会儿,女孩回到她的同伴中间,温哥低头打起了盹。
早上大家醒来时,车已经开到了另一家郝华德·约翰森饭馆,这次,温哥跟大家进来了。女孩坚持要他加入他们当中。但他看上去很害羞,只要了杯清咖啡,年轻人畅谈着露宿沙滩的趣事,他却紧张地吸着烟。他们回到车上后,那个女孩又坐到了温哥的旁边。坐了一会儿,温哥缓慢而又略带辛酸地说出了自己的故事:他在纽约的监狱度过了四年的时光,现在要回家了。
“你有太太吗?”
“我不知道。”
“不知道?”她说。
“噢,是这样的,在监狱时,我曾写信给她,”他说,“我告诉她,我要离开一段时间,如果她不能等我,如果她厌烦孩子总问东问西,如果她心里承受不了这样的伤害,那么,她可以忘记我,我会理解她。我让她再找一个男人——她是一位好女人——她应该把我忘记,去过新的生活。我让她不必回信给我。她真的没回。三年半了,杳无音信。”
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